


Safe Haven

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Thor is only briefly a thing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: This fic is the response to this (paraphrased) request on tumblr: Could you write some Loki x Reader fluff where they have been friends forever, with Reader always having Loki's back, even from childhood? But Loki is still a tease, even with Reader being shy and insecure but with the most stunning singing voice in all of Asgard. Please include the phrase, "Kiss me again. Like you mean it this time."
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 100





	Safe Haven

The one time you didn’t feel the anxious jitters of insecurity knocking at your knees was when you sang.

You knew the bright taste of confidence on your tongue when your voice rang out throughout the room, carrying tales of recent splendor and war to the hundreds of those in attendance of the celebratory feast. When so many looked upon you in wonder as you used your well-trained gift to entertain them before the true revelry had begun, you shone your brightest. 

But that high couldn’t last forever, and soon you were leaving the small fire-lit stage to allow everyone to focus on each other, laughing and toasting over honeyed mead and bittersweet wine. And that was when you felt most ill at ease, knowing that you didn’t quite fit in with the boasting warriors and their admirers, nor the wizened academics who conversed quietly amongst themselves.

Thank the _Norns_ for Loki, who caught your eye in the crowd, standing almost a full ahead above the rest. He had been your near-constant companion since your childhood, a spot of brightness and a safe haven wrapped in a dark and emerald green package that turned most others away. But you knew the heart beneath the thorny exterior, warm and inviting and not without laughter, from your years spent exploring all that Asgard had to offer, finding secret passageways in the palace and secreting yourselves away. Him, to practice magic and study in peace, and you, to rehearse, providing a pleasing background accompaniment to his workings.

You slipped through the crowd, shooting sheepish smiles in the direction of those who praised your performance, feeling your cheeks flame from the attention. He held out a glass of your favorite wine, elegant fingertips brushing yours when you gratefully took the drink from him. Holding it gave your fidgeting hands something to focus on. You had always been told that restlessness was most unbecoming of a lady of noble birth, not that you’d care. But it still nagged at the back of your mind.

“You look positively pallid, Little Lark,” Loki commented, concern edging his tone despite the boredom painting his harsh features.

You took your place beside him, your backs to a pillar, surveying the festivities from the edge of it all. “You know how I detest these parties. I do enjoy performing, but the attention afterward is most unsettling.”

He grinned, quirking a fine black eyebrow in your direction. “Perhaps it is not _only_ your otherworldly voice that draws their focus.”

Over the last century or so, Loki’s attentions had turned into something _more_ than the easy friendship you had grown used to. It was unsettling at first, to be the object of flirtation from someone of such a high status, of such regal beauty that to look him fully in the eye made your breath catch in your throat and your heart squeeze. But when he never made any further advances, you took it as harmless banter, sliding into the new roles of your relationship with all the ease and grace of a poorly shod horse. Anything became easier with time, however, and it wasn’t as if Asgardians were lacking that commodity.

Nothing could come of it, anyway. Your birth, while high in Asgardian society, wasn’t that of one who could _truly_ tempt a Prince.

So you easily rolled your eyes, nudging your shoulder into his upper arm. “Ah, yes, these so-called wiles that you insist I possess. How foolish of me to have forgotten them.”

“Indeed, as I have not,” he replied, his velvety voice dropping to a pleasant timbre that sent a chill down your spine.

You clenched the stem of your glass tighter for it, casting a glance up at him to see that he was watching you with such intensity that you were lost in the depths of his eyes. The flicking firelight from the torches scattered around the grand hall added a pleasant warmth to his porcelain skin, and the sharp cut of his cheekbones and jaw cast interesting shadows over his face that captivated you.

“Ah, there you are! Loki, have you been hiding away your songbird from the rest of us?” Thor bellowed, breaking the spell between you.

You tore your gaze away, taking a deep sip from your glass as you dipped your head in polite greeting to the Prince and his friends, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Their faces were flushed red with drink and merriment, eyes somewhat glassy as they rolled between you and Loki. They paid little mind to the maidens draped along their arms, and you knew that few men were brave enough to attempt wooing Sif.

“Apparently not effectively enough,” Loki replied, swiping a glass of mead from a passing servant with a cutting glance that would kill if he had such abilities.

Thor seemed unbothered by his brother’s coldness, taking a hearty swig from the tankard he held clutched in one hand. “We were telling our companions of the battle that we won only days ago, but I was having difficulty recalling your part in the ordeal.”

You caught the hint of disdain beneath Thor’s easy words, played off as a jest between siblings, but very disrespectful when presented in mixed company. It made your jaw clench, and you quickly finished your glass of wine before handing it to Loki, who made it disappear without comment or moment of hesitation.

Loki’s smile was serpentine, with too much harshness in the pull of his lips and the hardness in his eyes. “Besides assisting the Allfather and his advisors in the strategy of the battle?”

Volstagg sank down onto a table behind him, pulling his female companion onto his lap and wrapping her in his arms. “With your tricks, you could have been absent from the fight entirely and none would be the wiser. It would be the sort of thing a silver-tongued serpent would excel at.”

“Just because he isn’t a great brute like you, does not mean that he does not have the skills necessary to best any enemy before him. There is much to be said for cunning and forethought, especially as he is planning your actions on said battlefield,” you snapped, your hands balling up into fists at your sides. You continued before you completely lost your nerve, already feeling it slip at the shocked attention of the group, “He is your Prince, and you would do well to remember that. He deserves equal respect to that of Thor.”

You felt the weight of their eyes upon you, watching you as your eyes shifted between them, unsure of who was safest to land upon. None was heavier than Loki’s beside you, but you had spent all of your bravery in your outburst. Unable to face the scrutiny any longer, you dipped your chin to Thor before turning on your heel and storming away, needing a moment of fresh air to cleanse the panic from your lungs.

It was bitingly cold outside with a faint breeze blowing about slowly falling snowflakes. You had always loved Asgard in the winter, the warm copper and gold of the city blanketed in brilliant white that cast a hush over everything. It never lasted, horses and footsteps muddying the snow and turning it into a foul gray-brown slush, but the moment was nice while it lasted. The crisp air bit at your lungs and your skin. The fine silk dress that floated from your skin with each movement was quite beautiful, but hardly practical for remaining in the elements for an extended period of time.

The scent of pine and spice, rich and inviting, enveloped you just before a heavy cloak settled over your shoulders. _Loki._ You would know the earthy aroma of his soaps anywhere. He adjusted it around your arms before coming to your side, leaning a hip against the stone balustrade so he was facing you, arms crossed over his broad chest. As always, he seemed wholly unbothered by the bracing cold.

“Am I going to face punishment for speaking to one of the Warriors Three so candidly?” you asked, digging your hands into the warm fur lining his cloak. The warmth was needed, but it didn’t stop the icy grip around your heart as the consequences of your actions began to race through your thoughts. It had been incredibly disrespectful of you, and in public, no less. Even if you weren’t reprimanded for it, you may lose your tenuous position singing for the royal festivities. Not to mention the dishonor it would bring to your family name.

“They laughed off your anger quickly. No harm was done to their fragile egos,” Loki assured you. He tilted his head to the side, studying you closely. “You need not defend me from them. They are fools.”

“But I _must_. They treat you as the dirt beneath their boots, and it boils my blood. You are deserving of far better treatment than Thor and his boorish friends bestow upon you,” you insisted.

An unreadable expression crossed his face, and he shifted closer to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan across your face and radiate out from his body. His hand came up beneath the cloak to encircle your wrist, branding your skin with the light touch. “You honestly believe this to be true,” he said quietly, awestruck, searching your eyes.

This close, it was difficult for you to form a coherent thought and keep your eyes from trailing to his lips. Would they taste of the alcohol he had consumed moments ago? Surely that was your own imbibement speaking, causing the flutter of excitement in your chest and the color on your cheeks. But somehow you managed to piece together a quiet, “Of course. They are blind to the man you truly are.”

His fingertips grazed your cheekbone as his free hand left his side to brush a stray lock of hair - cold and wet from the falling snow - off of your forehead. His touch lingered, his hand falling down to slip beneath the hem of the cloak and grasp the back of your neck gently. “And who am I?”

It was a challenge, a question that demanded an answer by his soft yet firm tone. You dropped your eyes to the pulse racing in his neck, unable to think when staring into the face of such heartbreaking beauty. “A good man, one of thought and care. Loyal, to those who have earned it, and even to those who haven’t, for a time. Cunning, obviously, with intelligence that rivals that of anyone I know. And my dearest and oldest friend.”

The clearing of his throat drew your attention, and you were then transfixed by the tenderness smoothing across his face. “I am honored that you think so highly of me. But, I believe that I would be more than a friend, if you’d allow me?”

And when you said nothing, unable to process the intent behind his words, he lowered his head, first resting his forehead against yours. His nose rasped against your cheek, and you closed your eyes when the sight of his sooty lashes falling against unblemished cheekbones began to blur.

His lips, you discovered, tasted of bittersweet mead. Surely there must be some remaining on his tongue, for you felt thoroughly intoxicated as his hands dropped to wrap around your waist beneath his cloak, pressing your body into his. He swallowed your breathy sigh, holding you up against the weakness of your knees at the molten heat that rolled through you. At some point your arms wrapped around his shoulders so your fingers could tangle in the hair that brushed against his neck, eliciting a groan from him that stole your breath away.

“Will you allow me, Little Lark, to court you as I have desired for so long?” he asked after the kiss was broken, lifting his head just enough to see you clearly.

You rubbed your thumb over the leather covering his chest, emboldened by the throb of your heart in your kiss-swollen lips. “I am not of advantageous birth. It will not be a favored union.” You loathed to say it, but you had to, anyway.

His answering smile was full of so much happy mischief that you couldn’t help but match it. “Let them balk or whisper their grievances. You have been the only one in my sights for centuries. Say you’ll be mine?”

“I have always been yours, Loki. Why do you suppose I continue to perform in your colors?”

Lust darkened his emerald gaze. “Kiss me again. Like you mean it this time.”

The mirth on his lips was the sweetest nectar of all, banishing any frustration, anxiety, scorn, or melancholy that you had felt moments before. Because this was Loki, and he had always been your safe haven.


End file.
